So, someone in this chapter woke up and chose chaos, or maybe arrogance. Either way, Max and the Flame have opinions, and Seth is done being polite about it. Grab a drink, breathe, and enjoy the silence before things explode.
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The silence after the chaos felt heavier than the screams before it.
I stepped forward. The cages seemed to breathe in the dark, metal humming under the residual power. The air carried sweat, rust, and quiet terror.
The Flame stirred, rising from within like a living verdict. It moved outward in branching streaks of gold, threading between cages with intent no person, beast, or spirit could claim as their own. It paused at each lock, tasting metal and memory.
A soft click echoed.
Then another.
Then a chorus.
Locks dropped. Doors creaked open on their own.
Some victims remained curled inside, too afraid to believe freedom could be simple. Others reached trembling fingers toward the open air, as if it might disappear if touched too quickly.
One boy whispered something that sounded like 'thank God'.
Another whispered 'please'.
Neither felt like victory.
I exhaled.
"Adrian."
He appeared beside me instantly, his expression unreadable.
"You know what to do."
He nodded once. The air changed. A soft pulse radiated from him, as though thought itself became wind. The victims blinked slowly, confusion softening into calm. Their breathing steadied. Their shoulders loosened.
Each memory faded.
Each wound dulled.
Their last recollection would not be cages and screams.
It would be sirens. Flashing lights. A door kicked open by people wearing uniforms instead of shadows.
Behind us, the Flame stirred again. It drifted toward the perpetrators and hovered above their bodies with the cold patience of a judge deciding fate.
Then it struck.
Bodies lifted without effort, weightless as paper, before being slammed against the concrete floor at my feet. Bone met stone with sharp, sickening precision. Ribcages folded. Vertebrae buckled. Those who woke from the impact only had time to gasp before unconsciousness claimed them again.
Mercy was not the absence of consequence.
Mercy was the refusal to become what you destroy, yet the Flame did not bother softening its disgust.
One by one, the bodies were dropped in front of us like discarded sins. When the final man hit the floor, the chamber shifted. The air no longer crawled. The dread loosened its grip.
The room was not healed.
But for the first time since entering it, the room felt possible.
"Gabriel." My voice carried, not loud, but absolute.
He stepped forward.
"You will handle the legal end. I want parents contacted where possible. Relatives notified. Authorities who can be trusted, alerted. And if any law enforcement here was involved…"
He finished softly.
"I will remove them."
I nodded.
"Alec."
He moved before I finished, already approaching the girl who had spoken to me first. She pushed herself up slowly, eyes wide and unfocused, her body instinctively leaning toward safety like a plant toward light.
"Carry her," I said. "She leaves with us."
He let out a determined breath. "On it, boss."
"Marcus. Seth."
They turned to me.
"She will need clothing. Food. Anything necessary for tonight and the next few days. Meet us back at the hotel."
Seth's gaze softened with understanding. He touched my back briefly, not claiming, not steadying, just connecting.
"We will be quick," he said.
Jamey sprinted ahead, and by the time we reached the hotel suite twenty minutes later, he already had a bath running. Warm steam curled along the tiles, carrying the faint scent of lavender and safety.
I guided the girl inside.
Her steps were small. Careful. She kept glancing at the door, then the floor, then her own hands, like she was waiting to be told she was allowed to exist.
"You're safe," I said quietly.
She swallowed, and her voice trembled more than her body.
"My name is Hannah."
The name struck deeper than the vision ever had.
The cage.
The brokenness.
The kind of abandonment that settled in the chest and burned until it felt like the heart might tear itself apart.
I remembered the fear I felt inside her that day. Not just witnessed, but absorbed. A panic so heavy it dragged the mind toward the edge, the kind that made stillness unbearable and pain feel like the only thing left to hold onto.
The bruises.
The cold metal biting into skin.
The quiet plea for someone to come before the hurt became the only language she knew.
She had not been a nameless vision.
She had been trapped.
And she had been alone.
She lowered herself into the bath. The water wrapped around her thin frame, and the tension in her shoulders finally softened.
"...and I know you are Max."
I froze.
Dirt loosened first. Then dried blood. Then the final scraps of captivity.
And then something else surfaced.
Not water.
Light.
A faint shimmer rose from her skin, soft and unforced. Gold. Silver. Stardust resting on the surface like constellations learning gravity.
Her aura.
A declaration.
One of the twenty-eight.
My chest tightened.
I lifted my hand to place a restorative glyph on her shoulder just as a knock sounded on the door.
Seth.
I cracked the door, took the bag from his hand, and closed it again. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer, steady and grounding.
Marcus's voice followed. "Food and drinks. We figured she may need both. Actually, all of us may."
Jamey rustled through the bags like a starved raccoon. "No alcohol. I could really use a drink to calm what is left of my dignity."
Marcus scoffed, "Alcohol is for adults. You are not privileged yet."
Jamey stared at him as if personally betrayed.
For the first time in days, my stomach growled. Not polite. Not subtle. Honest.
Hannah leaned her head back against the porcelain, her voice barely a breath.
"I thought I would die before I found you."
I scooped warm water in my palm and let it fall gently over her ribs, careful of bruises. "How did you end up here?"
Her eyes remained closed. Her voice was soft but certain.
"I was traveling toward you. I felt the pull. When I saw you through the rift... I knew I had to follow."
I nodded once.
Slow.
Understanding.
"I know the feeling," I whispered. "The others said the same. They could not cross, but something told them they had to find us."
The room stilled.
Not heavy.
Not fearful.
Just real.
As if the universe, for a moment, finally connected its threads.
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We all gathered in the small room, sitting wherever space allowed. Beds. Floor. A tiny table barely big enough for takeout cartons. The food smelled like comfort, and after the night we had, comfort felt holy.
Hannah spoke quietly while she ate, telling the others about the rift and the pull she'd felt to find us. Every word sounded fragile, as if it had to fight memory to leave her throat.
Halfway through a sentence, she yawned.
Not just tired.
Bone-deep exhausted.
I turned to Seth. "Can you share with one of the guys tonight? I want her with me."
He didn't argue.
He walked over, slipped an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his chest. His voice dropped low enough that only I could hear it.
"I'm just one room away if you need me."
He pressed a kiss to my temple, then knelt and placed three soft kisses against my belly.
"Look after mommy," he murmured.
The twins answered with a light tremor beneath my ribs.
Sleep wasn't a question. It was gravity.
By the time I lay beside Hannah, dreamless darkness took both of us.
We left later than planned the next morning, the day already behind schedule before it began. The road eventually spit us out past Yellow Ridge into open country. Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening. Just the kind of landscape that made you believe bad things didn't happen in daylight.
We stocked up on supplies, then drove until the last sign of town disappeared behind us.
The greenery thinned.
Soil turned pale.
Sand swallowed the horizon.
"Stop," Marcus said suddenly.
The tone made every engine go silent.
We stepped out of the vehicles into still desert air. Dunes rolled endlessly ahead. Nothing but emptiness.
Marcus walked forward and lifted a hand, palm out.
His expression softened, almost reverent.
The air rippled like heat over metal.
Then the desert… broke.
The world around us changed. Palm trees moved with the wind like tired dancers, and the faint sound of waves reached us from somewhere beyond the horizon. The air tasted like salt and sunlight, and for a moment it felt as if the ocean itself was waiting, patient and certain we would reach its shore.
Jamey choked on air. "Okay. That is cheating."
Marcus smirked. "When I asked if it was really a desert…"
Jamey walked up beside him and slung an arm over his shoulders like they'd known each other long enough to annoy each other on purpose.
"I am overdue for a holiday. A real one. Spa. Coconut drinks. Five-star pillows. Preferably without kidnapping or murder."
Alec tapped his forehead. "Your priorities are concerning."
Marcus took another step toward the shifting greenery. His voice deepened, almost ceremonial.
"When outsiders see desert that is all they will ever find. But once you cross the veil, you step into Ga-Esha'Ryn."
The name carried weight.
The sand beneath our boots loosened and warmed, grains shifting like they remembered water.
Not gone.
Becoming.
The breeze grew cooler, and the distant crash of waves rolled closer until it felt near enough to touch. Then, through a break in the palms, the shoreline revealed itself.
A lone ship waited there, swaying gently on sapphire water. Its hull was carved with swirling sigils that shimmered beneath the sunlight, like runes breathing in time with the sea.
Jamey froze, jaw slack.
"…Okay. That wasn't here a second ago."
Alec nodded slowly. "Yeah. Pretty sure docks don't grow out of sand."
Marcus only smiled, and it wasn't smug. It was the expression of someone seeing home after being away for too long.
"When outsiders cross the veil," he said, voice softer now, "they walk until they die of thirst. But when royalty returns…"
He spread his hands slightly.
"…the way opens."
We boarded the vessel, and the moment Marcus's foot touched its deck, the ropes released themselves. The ship pulled away from the shore without wind, oars, sails, or effort, and moved by something older and unseen.
The ocean glittered like liquid sapphire. Schools of pale silver fish darted underneath the surface in synchronized spirals, almost forming shapes, symbols, or messages?
Seth leaned close. "Those fish are forming glyphs."
Marcus chuckled. "They greet the bloodline."
Jamey pressed his face to the railing.
"Okay, but tell them I greet the snacks."
A dolphin swam past.
Alec flicked Jamey's ear. "Try again. They look intelligent enough to file a complaint."
The ship drifted toward something colossal on the horizon.
At first, I thought it was a mountain.
Then I realized… it was too symmetrical.
A giant pyramid, rising from the middle of the ocean, its sides covered in dense cascading forest. Multiple layers terraced the structure: long wrapped tiers carved into stone and hanging greenery, dotted with rooftops, walkways, and waterfalls.
An entire civilization, built up a mountain-pyramid that touched the sky.
My breath stalled.
It wasn't beautiful.
It was breathtaking.
The ship touched shore again, and we stepped onto white sand, soft and impossibly clean. Ahead, a forest path wound upward.
The first tier revealed itself slowly: simple wooden shacks spaced beside garden beds and worn pathways. People worked quietly. Repairing fishing nets, grinding herbs, and tending to tools. Their clothing was rough-spun, marked with symbols I didn't yet recognize.
Marcus spoke gently.
"This is the tier of atonement. Those who have broken the law but still have the right to redemption live and work here."
We followed stone steps carved into the mountain.
With every level we climbed, the world shifted.
The second tier emerged. It was orderly and fortified, with houses, watchtowers, and open spaces meant for training. The people here moved with purpose. Their eyes were sharp, their posture disciplined, and their dual swords rested across their backs rather than at their hips.
"These are the guardians and their families," Marcus said quietly. "They live for service, shaped by discipline, and bound to duty."
Jamey whispered to Alec, "If anyone ever needs to lose weight fast… send them here."
Alec nodded solemnly. "My legs just resigned. I heard them."
The third tier unfolded like a living city. Homes painted in soft greens and ochres lined winding stone paths. Fountains trickled. Market stalls buzzed. Laughter and music drifted through open windows like the place had never known hardship.
But what drew the eye wasn't the buildings… it was the people.
On every wrist hung a bracelet: a small spiral shell threaded onto smooth cord, glimmering like pearl polish under sunlight. Next to each shell dangled a bead with vibrant shades, different, and intentional.
Adrian slowed beside Marcus, gaze fixed.
"Those shells… are they tied to the beads?"
Marcus nodded once, his expression shifting, pride layered with something quieter.
"The shells were the symbol of the Sovereign during his coming-of-age ceremony." His voice softened. "His gift allowed our people to speak with and understand the ocean."
He paused, watching a group of children run past, their beads clinking softly.
"As for the beads…"
His jaw tightened, not in secrecy, but as if the answer belonged to another moment.
"You'll find out soon enough."
Silence followed, reverent and a little stunned.
Then we reached the final set of stairs.
It was wider.
Steeper.
And carved in silver-veined obsidian.
The air grew still. Heavy. Expectant.
At the top stood a massive domed hall where walls were carved with runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Guards lined the entrance. They appeared taller, sharper, and wearing armor that shimmered like scales.
The moment Marcus stepped forward…
They dropped to one knee.
Not one.
All of them.
"First Son," they intoned in perfect unison.
"Welcome home."
Heat flashed up my spine.
I stepped close and whispered, barely audible…
"…First Son?"
Marcus leaned in, lips curving with a secret held too long.
"It translates closest to 'Crowned Prince.'"
Alec nudged Marcus with an elbow, dropping his voice.
"You've got some explaining to do."
I crossed my arms and lifted a brow at Marcus.
"He's right. You dragged us into a hidden sovereign kingdom like we're on a field trip. Start talking."
Marcus winced, though his eyes sparkled with the kind of amusement only someone used to secrets could carry.
"I will. But not here."
His gaze lifted ahead.
The massive domed hall stood waiting.
It wasn't just a building.
It breathed authority.
Tall columns lined the entrance, carved with symbols older than written history. The doors were obsidian-black and polished until they reflected us like a warning.
As we stepped inside, the air shifted.
Warmth turned reverent.
Conversation echoed in murmurs… then died completely.
The hall was filled. Rows of seats stretched upward like the interior of an arena. On one raised platform sat four distinct groups, each positioned like pieces in a living hierarchy.
The Royal Faction.
Golden robes. Poised. Watching.
The Guard Captains.
Armor gleaming like moon-forged steel.
The Spiritual Faction.
Robes ink-dark, heads bowed, bare feet silent on polished marble.
And at the center, beneath a towering seal of the sea and stars…
The Sovereign.
Marcus's father.
His presence was a storm held still. Grey eyes. Long black and grey braids threaded with beads like the ones we saw outside. His wife stood beside him, regal and steady, watching us with the quiet assurance of someone who carried the weight of many lives. She was The First Mother, and there was something about her that felt both sheltering and inescapably known.
Marcus inhaled quietly.
They had been waiting.
The moment we crossed the threshold, everyone in the hall stood.
Then they bowed.
Not a polite dip.
A unified, structured, reverent bow executed like a single exhale of breath.
Marcus stiffened beside us, his face unreadable, shoulders squared.
But what happened next wasn't for him.
A figure from the Spiritual Faction stepped forward. An elder, robes sweeping the marble like moving ink. His energy was old. Not weak, but ancient, like mountains were ancient. His followers trailed behind him.
He stopped before Seth and me.
Then he bowed.
Deep.
Full.
A bow of oath, not greeting.
His voice carried without being loud.
"We welcome the Living Scripture and the Divine Breath. Heaven walks our earth."
A ripple moved through the chamber.
And then…
Everyone followed.
Royalty. Guards. Scholars. Every single person lowered their head.
Not toward Marcus.
Toward us.
My stomach flipped. Seth's fingers brushed mine, grounding, and steady.
I spoke first, my voice quiet but firm.
"Please rise. We are not here to be worshipped."
Seth nodded, expression calm, humble.
"We walk beside you. Not above you."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then a very human voice shattered the reverence.
Jamey whispered loudly, "Okay… so… are we royalty too now? Because I am absolutely printing business cards."
Alec elbowed him.
"Sit down. Before someone crowns you court jester."
Jamey grinned.
"I would make a fantastic jester."
Marcus shot them a warning look over his shoulder, though his mouth twitched like laughter was fighting its way out.
The elder lifted his head first, studying Seth and me with the kind of recognition that wasn't about sight, but knowing.
"Ga-Esha'Ryn thanks you for coming."
Seth's thumb brushed the back of my hand.
"And we are honored to stand here."
The Sovereign finally stood.
His voice filled the hall without effort.
"Then let this day be marked. The First Son has returned with the ones foretold. The balance begins."
Marcus exhaled with relief, burden, and history. All at once.
I leaned toward him.
"That is definitely more than 'a little explaining.'"
He sighed.
"Yeah… I know."
Alec clapped him on the back.
"Congratulations, Your Majesty-in-training. We expect five-star service. Jamey wants a massage."
Marcus groaned.
"This was a mistake."
But the smile tugging at his mouth said otherwise.
Marcus walked beside us through the courtyard, his expression softer now that he was home.
"Your rooms have been prepared," he said. "Rest. Wash off the road. A small meal will be served shortly. Tonight, Ga-Esha'Ryn will officially welcome you."
Jamey let out a dramatic sigh and flung an arm over Seth's shoulder.
"Thank God. I was starting to feel like my bones were eating themselves."
Alec nudged him. "Your bones are covered in cheesecake. You will survive."
Jamey shoved him lightly. "Cheesecake is a survival method."
Seth squeezed my hand. "Rest first. Ceremony later."
I nodded, already craving silence more than food.
We gathered again hours later in the grand hall, rested and clean. The ceiling stretched high above us, carved with waves and constellations, and lanterns drifted through the air like small suns. The space carried an ancient hush, the kind of reverence that settled into the bones rather than demanded attention.
Marcus moved among his people with effortless familiarity, the way someone does when every stone knows their name.
Seth stayed near me. Always close. Always aware.
Jamey held a growing audience in the corner, animated and absolutely unbothered.
"So there I was, standing nose-to-nose with a demon who smelled like socks and disappointment."
Gasps. Delighted horror. Jamey's grin could have powered a city.
Alec and Adrian stood farther back, attempting invisibility and failing spectacularly.
Adrian muttered under his breath. "Why do they keep approaching us?"
Alec did not blink. "Because you look broody and mysterious."
"And you?"
Alec sighed. "Apparently someone told them I have nice shoulders."
Adrian blinked at him, earnest as a sunrise. "You do."
Alec stared. "That is not helping."
A warm laugh threatened at the back of my throat. I controlled it. Barely.
The Spirit Elder found me. Or perhaps I drifted toward him. Either way, his presence commanded stillness. He traced the stone floor with his gaze as if reading history rather than material.
"This kingdom was carved long before memory," he murmured. "Not built. Revealed. As though the earth remembered its purpose and stepped aside."
His voice carried centuries. Seth stood close enough to hear, his posture relaxed, but his attention sharpened like a blade held loosely only in appearance.
I breathed in the moment.
Then everything changed.
Not the air. Not the room.
The atmosphere.
Power entered.
A woman glided forward with her family trailing behind her. Silk shimmered at her heels. Pearls crowned her hair. Confidence clung to her like perfume someone applied generously and without restraint.
Her greeting arrived late.
Too late.
The first offense.
After acknowledging the Sovereign and the elders, she turned deliberately toward Marcus. Only then did she offer Seth a graceful bow before giving me a curt nod that barely qualified as politeness.
Alright. Noted.
The flame inside me flickered in mild offense, but remained still.
For now.
Marcus watched her with a tightening jaw as she sank into a seat across from him.
"And this must be..." Her gaze swept across me with all the warmth of someone inspecting furniture. "The Living Scripture."
Alec choked on his drink.
Adrian kicked his ankle without looking.
Seth inhaled sharply. I gave him a warning look.
I offered the woman a pleasant smile. The polite kind. The dangerous kind.
She continued, her tone dipped in honey and venom.
"First Son Marcus spoke endlessly about you. Apparently he was so taken by the idea of meeting you that he postponed our wedding."
Ah. So there it is.
She turned to Seth next. "Tell me. How does it feel to be married to such a powerful creature? A wife whose Flame nearly scorched the world?"
The second offense.
Marcus struck the arm of his chair. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You foolish woman. If you do not hold your tongue..."
She spun on him, voice raised, petulant. "Or what? Am I not allowed an opinion in my own future? You humiliated me."
She rose too quickly and her mother grasped her arm with urgency. "Sharyn. Enough."
Sharyn's lashes lowered as she glared down at Marcus. Then her finger pointed directly at me.
"He canceled our wedding to chase after a woman whose Flame has already started fading." She laughed, sharp and hysterical. "A married woman. A pregnant one."
Alec stood straighter. Jamey froze mid-chuckle. Adrian braced subtly, ready to intervene.
Sharyn stormed toward me, stopping only when she could breathe my air. Her finger hovered inches from my face.
"What now? Will your husband defend you? Speak up. Or is your Flame too timid to do it for you?"
The third offense.
Before I could respond, Seth moved.
He crossed the space with the calm certainty of a storm choosing where to fall. His hand struck her cheek with controlled precision. The sound cracked through the hall. A faint veil of silver frost curled from his breath.
I tapped my finger once against the arm of my chair.
"Seth. Calm yourself. I do not need you to stain your hands on my behalf."
He leaned closer to me, eyes fierce and voice low enough to keep private. "And I will not allow someone to stain your worth, no matter how entitled they think they are."
I lifted a hand to his cheek. My thumb traced a slow arc along his skin.
Then I whispered, "What purpose does a rose's thorn serve, my love? It wounds only those who forget the flower deserves respect."
Jamey leaned in beside us with a sage nod. "Exactly. Marcus makes an excellent rose."
Marcus closed his eyes as if reconsidering his life choices.
Dinner was called, and we took our places at a long obsidian table. Servants poured drinks. The hall quieted with ceremonial anticipation.
The first dish arrived.
Then she stood again.
She raised her glass, smile sharp as a blade.
"To the power of the ocean," she said. "Enduring. Ancient. True. Not borrowed."
Fourth offense.
The hall froze.
Eyes shifted to me.
The Spirit Elder's jaw tightened.
Marcus looked ready to commit murder using nothing but etiquette.
Jamey whispered, "Well… she has selected death."
Alec nodded once. "Bold choice."
Sharyn's smile thinned. "Some flames flare bright for a moment, but they fade. The sea decides what is worthy. Not Heaven."
That was enough.
The Flame answered.
Golden light rippled beneath my skin, sinking into the stone beneath me like sunlight absorbed by earth. The mountain trembled, subtle but undeniable.
Lanterns swayed.
Outside, the ocean stilled.
Bracelets throughout the hall vibrated.
Sharyn touched hers.
It cracked.
Then another.
And another.
Not a coincidence.
Judgment.
Her bracelet split down the center with surgical precision.
Her expression collapsed from smug certainty to dawning horror.
Only then did she truly look at me.
Not with rivalry.
With understanding.
And fear.
I rose.
Silence drew tight around the room.
The Living Scripture surfaced fully across my skin in liquid gold. Seth, Jamey, Alec, Adrian, and even Marcus took instinctive steps back. Not from fear.
From respect.
The world waited.
I held her gaze.
"Borrowed power breaks."
The Flame surged.
My voice deepened, layered with something ancient and sovereign.
"Mine does not borrow."
Another pulse.
Everything dimmed.
Light tightened into stillness.
And then the world opened.
Golden tendrils unfurled from within me, ancient and alive. Glyphs shimmered black and molten, rearranging, awakening, no longer patient.
Not warning.
Declaring.
The Flame had spoken.
And the mountain heard.
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If you are wondering whether Sharyn will learn from her choices, the answer is probably not. But we can all agree she earned every consequence she received.
Thank you for reading, screaming, laughing, or glaring along with the cast. The next chapter will not calm down. I promise nothing. See you soon.
If you laughed, gasped, or judged the characters at least once, hit follow. They thrive on attention.